


The Choice Less Hopeful

by octopus_fool



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-24 05:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17698268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Sometimes, the best hopes of two kings of struggling kingdoms is an alliance. And sometimes, on lucky occasions, the political needs fit together unexpectedly well with the personal side of things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/gifts).



> In case anyone needs an overview of the characters and how they are related, a family tree with all the relevant characters can be found [here](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Ondoher#Genealogy) (there may be spoilers in there, depending on how up to date you are on this part of history).

Fíriel looked out over the green fields of Pelenor, running her hands over the white stone of the balustrade. The afternoon sun was not yet sending the shadows of the White Mountains over the city. She was just admiring the way the White Tree's silvery leaves fluttered in the breeze when she heard footsteps and turned around.

“Hello, my little sparrow.” Her father walked towards her, smiling.

“I'm not that little anymore, you know that,” Fíriel reminded him, returning his smile.

“I know, my little sparrow. I saw you made some of your wonderful little cakelets again.”

Fíriel had to grin when she saw the tell-tale traces of powdered sugar on her father's cloak. Baking was not really a pastime that was considered fitting for a woman of noble birth, but she greatly preferred it to the stitching many saw as a noble woman's main occupation. But just the feel of the dough beneath her fingers made her happy, and her father appreciated her skills in that regard, especially since kingship had passed on to him four years ago.

“And I see you've already had a try. They are supposed to be for this evening, not for between meals.”

“I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist trying one, especially after the long council meeting today. And the cakelet was delicious, not that I had expected anything else.”

His face turned serious again. “There is something I want to talk to you about.”

“Is there more bad news from the East?”

The king grimaced. “When is there not? But that is not what I wanted to talk to you about. You know that we are expecting Prince Arvedui of Arthedain for talks about how to intensify the cooperation between our kingdoms.”

“Yes, of course.”

Her father fidgeted, which was not something Fíriel was used to seeing. She suddenly had an inkling what this conversation would be about.

“If you... I think it would not be a bad idea if you spend some time with him, get to know him a bit.”

Fíriel knew that her father would never ask her to marry someone she didn't want to marry. A gentle nudge like this would be the most he would do. And all it would take, really. If her father thought it was a good idea, she would do her best to see the benefits of it.

“You think it would be a good idea if I consider marrying him. The countries would be connected by more than just words and treaties.”

“Only if you find favour in him. I would not want you to be unhappy.”

“I know, no matter how useful it would be for politics.”

He father looked East and the spring day suddenly seemed less warm as he sighed. “It would be useful for strengthening the treaty, but that is not the only reason I am asking you to consider it. Uncertain times lie ahead of us. War will be upon us again sooner or later, and I would breathe easier with certain precautions taken.”

“Do you think all of Gondor will be overrun?” Fíriel had not thought the situation to be quite that dire.

“No, though there is no knowing what the future will bring, even after weighing all possible outcomes in one's head. I do however have to consider the possibility that there will be heavy losses when it comes to war. I may not survive the battle.”

Fíriel swallowed. “You will, I am sure of it.”

Her father gave her a crooked smile and squeezed her hand. “You cannot be sure of that. We must consider the possible outcomes, consider Gondor's future. I might die, just as Artamir might.”

“Faramir would stay here in Minas Anor for that possibility. Then he would become king.”

“He would be king then, yes.” He paused and took a deep breath. “You know your brother.”

Faramir with his wild laugh, his flighty nature and his certain penchant for recklessness. He would not be standing here looking out across the lands, carefully weighing all possible outcomes of things that might or might not come to pass years in the future. He was not one to wait things out, never had been.

“Faramir would always stand by his people, his country, his family,” Fíriel said quietly.

“Yes. He would do what he thinks is best for Gondor.”

They lapsed into silence for a while, listening to the distant bustle of the city and a child laughing somewhere in the quarters of the kitchen staff.

“We are considering all the possibilities, just in case,” Fíriel's father said finally. “Should something happen to all of us, you would have a better claim if you married Arvedui. He is descended from Isildur and will be a king of his own right. You would be a good queen and I would like to see you on the throne if things come to pass in such a way, but I know others will need convincing. Minohtar will support you rather than make a claim of his own, but a connection to Arnor will make everything easier. And your and Arvedui's son could eventually reign over all the lands in the West.”

He smiled at her. “But these may well be idle worries. Just spend a little time with Arvedui and we will see if this is even an option.”

 

Arvedui was wearing expensive red robes in a cut Fíriel had not seen before. She got the distinct impression that he would feel more at home on a horse, but he didn't let that get in the way of bowing low before her, even before greeting her brothers. With amusement she realised that he had very much the same assignment as she did.

 

“Are you enjoying the sights of Minas Anor?” Fíriel asked as she approached Arvedui where he was standing and running a hand over the bark of the White Tree.

He startled slightly, then smiled when he saw her.

“Fíriel. I didn’t hear you coming.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought you might want a little tour of the city, since you’re already getting started on looking at the sights.”

“I would, though I’m already rather impressed. Even if Minas Anor had nothing else to see, the White Tree alone would be worth a long journey. It is far more beautiful than I had imagined. Arthedain or even the entire north has nothing comparable.”

Fíriel laughed. “I’m not sure that’s something you should be saying if you are trying to impress a woman from Minas Anor to come back to Arthedain with you to become your wife.”

Arvedui blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be to forward…”

“Don’t worry, you weren’t. I just realised that our fathers are hoping for the same thing, and figured it might be less uncomfortable if all the cards were on the table, so to speak. I’m sorry if that was too forward from my side.”

It was Arvedui’s turn to laugh. “Not at all. I like directness. I hope there isn’t too much pressure on you in that direction?”

“No, don’t worry,” Fíriel replied. “That’s not something my father would do. He just suggested I spend some time with you and keep that possibility in mind.”

“That’s rather close to what my father told me,” Arvedui said with a grin. 

“Well then, I’ll give you that little tour of Minas Anor. That should count as spending some time together.”

Arvedui laughed. “Well let’s go then, I think there may be a thunderstorm this afternoon and I’d prefer to be back before that.”

He fell into step with her to discover the lower parts of the city. 

 

Fíriel supressed a grin as she watched Arvedui’s hand reach towards the plate of cakelets and biscuits she had baked. He had done so almost as often as her father had.

Not that Fíriel made a habit of watching Arvedui. It was just that she had lost interest in the conversation the second time Lord Bëor of Dol Amroth had listed all the ways in which his body was deteriorating. Since then, he had listed them three more times and was starting into his fourth complaint about how everything had been better back in his day. Watching Arvedui in his boredom was just far more entertaining than that. There was something calming about his dark eyes framed in dark hair, even though his nose was probably a bit too large for him to be considered handsome. 

Fíriel looked away from Arvedui and noticed that Artamir had been watching her. He raised an eyebrow and she could see his fingers tapping on his cup in what could only be the code she and Faramir had invented long ago for tedious tea time conversations like this and which they had eventually taught Artamir. Trying to ignore the blush she could feel rising up her neck, she pointedly looked away from his fingers, not particularly keen on brotherly teasing or questions. 

“Well, Lord Bëor, what do you suggest should be done to make things as good as they once were?” Fíriel asked.

Lord Bëor looked at her in surprise and she wondered if he had forgotten he actually had an audience. “Well, young lady, the thing is this: back in the day, we still…”

As he went back to his monologue, Fíriel looked back at Arvedui. He was looking at her, the left corner of his mouth raised like it always was when he was trying very hard not to show his amusement. 

Fíriel wondered at what point during their walks though the city and their conversations in the citadel she had picked up on his little quirks. Feeling the blush rise again, Fíriel quickly reached for a cakelet.

 

“Well, I can’t say I’m not glad that’s over,” Fíriel said when Lord Bëor finally retired to his rooms and the tea company dispersed through the hallways of the citadel.

“He isn’t exactly an adventurous type like his famous namesake was,” Arvedui said in a low voice.

“Well, at least he’s old. They have that much in common,” Fíriel said drily.

Arvedui snorted in a refreshingly undignified manner.

“Did you at least enjoy the cakelets?” Fíriel asked.

“I hope I didn’t appear too eager? They were just so delicious.”

Fíriel grinned. “No, don’t worry. I’m just always glad when someone likes the things I bake.”

“You baked them yourself? I thought it is uncommon In Gondor for ladies of noble birth to spend time in the kitchen?”

“It is, but I enjoy it and find the feeling of dough beneath my fingers calming. What is it like in Arthedain?”

“You wouldn’t find anyone who’d raise an eyebrow at you baking, especially not when the things you bake taste as delicious as they do.”

Fíriel could feel that annoying blush rising again so she was rather glad that they had reached window with a view of the White Tree as it stood in the rain and Arvedui stopped to look at it.

“I never get tired of looking at it,” Arvedui said. “Just looking at trees is relaxing. As wonderful as Minas Anor is, I have to admit I miss the forests of Arthedain.”

“There will be a brief pause in the talks in a few days when my father has to visit the troops stationed in Osgiliath, won’t there? There is a small forest a few hours ride to the south, ducked in a valley in the foothills of the mountains. If you like, I could show you that. I’d love to show you the forests of Ithilien, but it is less safe and we would need guards for protection.”

“I’d love to see the little forest in the south,” Arvedui replied. “Will we manage to ride there in one day and return the same day?”

“We don’t have to. There’s a little inn in the village next to the forest, we could stay there. It’s nothing fancy, but the beds are clean and the food good.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

The smile that Arvedui sent Fíriel made her heart beat faster, there was no use in denying it.

 

Fíriel knocked at Faramir’s door and was relieved when he replied immediately. He got up from his desk when she entered. 

“My favourite little sister! What a rare pleasure!”

“And your only one, little or otherwise. I know an ineffective compliment when I see one.”

Faramir laughed. “What brings you here?”

It hadn’t taken Fíriel long to decide that Faramir was the one to go to. As much freedom as she enjoyed, she and her brothers had been taught from a young age that leaving the city without letting anyone know where you were going was folly. And if she told her father or Artamir, they would insist at least a small guard would accompany Fíriel and Arvedui despite the area being perfectly safe. 

“I intend to go on a little trip to the Erui Forest with Arvedui tomorrow.”

“And I assume Father and Artamir know nothing of this?” Faramir asked with a grin.

“Well, I wouldn’t tell all of you my plans separately, would I? And I’ve covered for you often enough.”

“Don’t worry, you know I won’t say anything unless I have to. When do you plan to return?”

“In the evening of the day after that. It’s not going to be a long trip.”

“I just hope it won’t rain, you know how the weather can be in summer.”

“Arvedui says the weather will hold, and he seems to be right about the weather more often than not.”

“Well, let’s hope he’s right then. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Faramir said with a wink.

Fíriel laughed. “I’d have to be rather creative to come up with something you wouldn’t do. And thank you.”

She turned to leave.

“Fíriel?” Faramir’s voice was suddenly serious. 

“Yes?”

“I know that Father would be pleased if you marry Arvedui and I know that you’d never want to disappoint Father. Don’t let yourself be pressured into something you don’t want.”

Fíriel hugged her brother. “I won’t.”

Faramir hesitated. “There is that bit about his name. There might be a bit of a risk in marrying someone who is called Last King. I don’t want you to regret this choice, you know.”

“It’s just a name, you know that. If you are worried about the name being more than just a word, remember that the prophecy that goes with it says that if he is to make the right choice even though it might seem less hopeful, he will be the king of a great kingdom. And I didn’t know you were one for old prophecies anyway.”

Faramir grimaced. “If that prophecy refers to Gondor, I think Artamir might have a word to say about it. And me too, for that matter.”

“Of course, which is just another reason to not take these things too seriously.”

“I know. Just… do what you think is right for you. Do what you want.”

“Don’t worry, I will. I am.”

 

The forest was cool despite the summer heat that had accompanied them on their journey through the hills. Light filtered through the leaves and both of them drank in the fresh air and the colours.

After walking through the forest, sometimes deep in conversation, sometimes silently, they halted at a small stream for a late lunch. The water gurgled in the stream and they sat together more closely than would have been considered proper, the branches and leaves of an oak tree stretching above them. 

That evening, when they went to their respective rooms after a simple but good dinner, Fíriel paid close attention to which floorboards creaked. Not a single one made a sound when she tiptoed into Arvedui’s room later. 

 

“Looks like the wedding bells will be ringing soon then,” Artamir whispered as Fíriel was about to re-enter the Great Hall. 

“Oh, be quiet,” Fíriel said, shoving her elbow between his ribs and feeling a blush creep into her face. 

“So I’m completely misreading the looks you are sending him and the amount of time the two of you are spending together?” Artamir kept teasing.

“It is none of your concern,” Fíriel grumbled. 

“Alright, whatever you say. If there is nothing going on, then there’s no need for me to show you how to use the palantír tomorrow like I was planning to. After all, that means you’ll be staying here in Minas Anor and can just come and knock on my door if you want to talk.”

Fíriel glared at him. “Show me how to use it,” she finally ground out.

Artamir grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

 

There was a soft knock on the door and Fíriel half turned around as she replied. It was Arvedui who quietly stepped into the room.

“Am I interrupting you in anything?”

“Not at all.” Fíriel had long since abandoned the letter she had been writing in order to look out of the window at the White Tree. 

“It doesn’t produce many seeds, does it?” Arvedui asked, looking out of the window. 

“No. There were previous trees from which this one descended, but there is only a sapling every several hundreds of years, usually when the old tree has died.”

Arvedui nodded slowly. “I was afraid that might be the case.”

Fíriel scrutinised him, wondering about his strangely pensive mood. “Why do you ask?”

“There is an oak tree in the courtyard of the citadel of Formenos. Now that I have seen Minas Anor and its White Tree, I know that the oak tree was planted there in reference to it. I was hoping there might be a seed or a sapling I might plant next to it.”

Fíriel watched as he fidgeted. 

“Not for the sake of myself, or even of my kingdom,” Arvedui continued. “I know how fond you are of that tree. I was hoping another one like it might make you more likely to agree to come north with me, and might make you less homesick if you do.”

“Oak trees are wonderful, I’m sure I will be very happy in its shade. And yes, I will marry you and go north with you, if that was even a question anymore.”

The widest smile Fíriel had ever seen on him spread across Arvedui’s face. It was almost a shame to interrupt it with a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Fíriel looked out of the tower window and watched as a sparrow flitted into the oak tree in the courtyard of the citadel. While the oak tree was quite different to the White Tree of Minas Anor, it did bring a sense of familiarity to Fornost.

Fíriel got that strange sense of familiarity from many things in Fornost. The layout of the city was similar to that of many cities and towns in southern Gondor, but the details of the buildings were just as foreign to her as the clothes. The language of the people was the same, but the tongues of the people of Arthedain gave it strange shapes. And they looked out from the walls of the city with the same worried expression as the people of Gondor, only that they looked north rather than east.

Still, it had not taken long for Fíriel to feel at home in Fornost. The people were serious but friendly and it didn't take long for them to realise that Fíriel was not the hard to please princess some had probably expected her to be. Fíriel's skills in baking had most likely played their part in dispelling that assumption.

Now, however, Fíriel’s thoughts were on Gondor rather than on the similarities Arthedain had with it. She tried to calm her thoughts by looking at the oak tree, but her mind kept wandering to the White Tree and whatever might be happening around it. She had not been able to reach her father or her brothers in weeks and the more she worried, the more the concentration she needed to control the palantír slipped. 

“Still no success?” Arvedui asked, stepping beside her. 

Fíriel shook her head. “There’s nothing. The images keep slipping out of my control and I can’t even see anywhere near Gondor.” 

“You worry too much,” Arvedui said, pressing a kiss onto her dark hair.

“I know, and it’s clouding my ability to control the stone.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Arvedui said softly. “I’m sure everything is alright.”

“Could you try?” 

“You know that I am far less skilled at this than you are, my heart,” Arvedui said doubtfully.

“Please? You know that it can only succeed with a clear, concentrated mind and like you said, I worry too much.”

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise you anything.”

Arvedui sat in the chair beside the palantír, placed his hands around it and stared into it. 

Fíriel looked out of the window again, trying not to fidget. The sparrow left the oak tree again, returning minutes later with a fly in its beak for the chicks in the nest that lay hidden somewhere amongst the branches. 

Long minutes passed and the sparrow returned to its nest several more times before Arvedui finally sighed and leaned back.

“I’m sorry, I can’t see anything beyond the borders of Arthedain. You know that this doesn’t mean anything, I’m rarely able to see far beyond the borders and the guidability of the palantír varies anyway. My father thinks that the enemy may be able to hinder the palantír moving as well as it might, but I think it is more likely that the weather influences the stones. And no enemy, no matter how strong, can change the weather.”

 

The wind swept the dead leaves of the oak tree through the courtyard of the citadel. The leaves that still clung to the branches shivered in the gusts of what Arvedui said would most likely become the first storm of autumn. 

Fíriel knelt down to examine the handful of acorns Aranarth showed her with the pride only a small child could have.

“They are for you, Nana,” Aranarth said earnestly.

“Thank you, my little hedgehog,” Fíriel said, running her hand through his hair, cut short in the manner that the people of Arthedain cut their children's hair. “Shall we put it into the jar with the other acorns?”

Aranarth nodded and put his hand into the hand she held out to him.

They had only walked a few steps when they were stopped by the sounds of a galloping horse. Fíriel turned around and felt her heart drop. The clothes or the rider were not those typical of Arthedain, but were the close fit tunics with leather that the soldiers of Gondor wore.

He dismounted and bowed to Fíriel. “My Lady. I have an urgent message for you, King Araphant and Prince Arvedui.”

Fíriel sent Aranarth to over to his nurse and led the messenger into the throne hall. King Araphant was speaking with his council, but he quickly got up to greet the messenger.

“What news from Gondor?” he asked.

Arvedui offered Fíriel the seat next to him with a worried glance at her face.

“Grave news, I am afraid. Gondor was assaulted from the East and the South. General Eärnil was victorious, but the King and his sons fell at the Morannon before General Eärnil could come to their aide and defeat the wainriders.”

“Both Artamir and Faramir fell?” Fíriel asked, barely aware of Arvedui's hand on hers.

“I am afraid so. Prince Faramir was to stay in Minas Arnor, but he appears to have gone to battle with the Éothéod. The party he rode with came under attack as they retreated and he was killed. They only discovered who he was when Captain Marhimud searched his body and found his sigil. ”

Fíriel took a deep breath. “So Minohtar sends you to bear this news?”

“I'm afraid not, my Lady. Captain Minohtar led the army after the death of King Ondoher and Prince Artamir, but wainriders broke through to him and he was slain by an arrow.”

“Who rules Gondor now?” King Araphant asked.

“The Steward of Gondor, Pelendur. At least until the Council decides who the next king will be.”

Fíriel couldn't help but clutch Arvedui's hand more tightly. He gently squeezed back and cleared his voice.

“Thank you for bringing us these tidings, however grim they may be. You must be tired from the long journey. We will have food brought and a room prepared for you. Tomorrow morning, we will talk more of these matters.”

 

“My father considered that this might happen,” Fíriel said quietly as she stared out into the night where the wind had grown to a full autumn storm just like Arvedui had predicted.

“Did he have foresight?” Arvedui asked, laying his hand on the small of her back as he stepped beside her.

“Not that I know of. He just knew how to consider every possible outcome.” Fíriel's voice choked.

“It's alright to cry, my heart,” Arvedui said softly.

Fíriel shook her head. “No,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat, “I'm afraid that once I start, I won't have the strength to go through with what has to happen now.”

Arvedui made a sound which could be taken as either mild protest or grudging consent.

Outside, the wind howled and the shutter of a window clattered in the gusts.

“He wanted me to claim the throne if... if this happened.”

Arvedui nodded. “I thought that might have been part of his plans, part of the reason why he was hoping we would get married. Do you want this, to claim the throne of Gondor?”

Fíriel stared at him. “It was part of the plan.”

“Do you yourself want it? If it is what you want, then we are in this together, even though it isn't going to be easy. The messenger sounded like there are other claimants and ruling two kingdoms at once will not be an easy feat either.”

“Yes. It was my father's throne, and it should have gone to one of my brothers. I could have seen it going to my cousin Minohtar, but now there is nobody with a better claim than us. Yes, I want this.”

“Then we will go to Gondor and claim the throne. It might not be easy, but I do believe we stand a chance, together.”

 

The journey south was hurried but without any incidents. Nevertheless, Fíriel was rather glad when they reached Tharbad and could spend the night in a real bed and take a much needed bath. After they took a look around the ancient city and the empty houses at its edges, Aranarth wanted to go down to the river, so they decided to extend their walk to the outside of the city. They found a little staircase leading down the other side of the causeway and a small but well-trodden path along the Gwathló. 

A little way down the path, they found a group of boulders on a little beach surrounded by willows and decided to take a little rest while Aranarth explored the beach. It didn’t take long before he was digging in the sand and building a sandcastle with Arvedui’s help. Fíriel watched them fondly.

“It’s a shame Arthedain already has all the towns it needs,” Arvedui said as he took a break and shook the sand out of his clothes. “He has talent in building fortresses and towns.”

“I’m sure of it,” Fíriel replied as one of the towers collapsed.

They watched as Aranarth didn’t even pull a face at the mishap and just started rebuilding the tower.

“My father used to take my brothers and me to the Anduin for fishing trips. I was still too small to sit patiently and fish, but I like to think that the sandcastles I built were spectacular, I even built Minas Anor from sand once. I’m afraid I made far too much noise for my father and my brothers to catch a lot of fish though.”

Her laughter caught in her throat. Her father would never be able to teach his grandson how to fish, or see his sandcastles. Artamir would never carry him piggyback like he had carried Fíriel when she was little and Faramir would never give him that conspirative grin and help him cause mischief. 

Arvedui wrapped her in his arms as tears began running down her face.

 

“Nana, do I have to do this?” Aranarth whispered, looking out of place in his black tunic, cut in the style of Gondor and embellished with a silver tree.

“I'm afraid so, my little hedgehog,” Fíriel replied, stroking his hair, which they had let grow out a little longer as it was custom in Gondor. “It is just for this afternoon and afterwards you can eat cake and play outside again.”

“Is it cake that you baked?”

Fíriel nodded. “It’s the nut cake that you like best.”

Aranarth still looked unhappy, but he nodded. Fíriel hated doing this to him, but she and Arvedui both knew that their chances would be increased if they presented Aranarth as a promising prince of Gondor, heir to the throne and capable of continuing the line of kings. They had briefly considered putting in his claim to the throne, after all, he was the last king's closest male relative, but they hadn't wanted to subject him to even closer questioning than he would already have to go through.

 

“I hate everything about this,” Fíriel said as she climbed into bed and Arvedui wrapped his arms around her. “I feel like a beggar in my own home.”

“I know, my heart,” Arvedui said, gently kissing her beneath her ear. “It will be worth it, you will see. Our claim on the throne is much better than Eärnil's and I'm sure the Council will see that too.”

Fíriel had her doubts. She had seen the hint of doubt on Pelendur's face as they brought forth their arguments and she knew the weight the Steward's word held. She also had her doubts that they had really tried to reach Arthedain with the palantír as they claimed they had. 

“Gondor is a country at war,” she pointed out. “They are more concerned about the safety of the country and the strength of their leader than about questions of the descent.”

“I am experienced in questions of war myself. I have led armies and defended Arthedain against increasing odds. They will see that. And we have a promising heir who will continue the line. Eärnil's son speaks of little more than of his prowess in combat.”

“It is what the Council wants to hear.”

“Still, strength on the battlefield alone will not be enough to secure a kingdom. He needs strategic thinking and the wisdom to lead his people, as well as diplomatic abilities. He will need an heir and Eärnur's answer to that question about whether there is a lady he could imagine marrying was less than convincing.”

“He is little more than a child himself! Of course he is uncertain about answering such a question. And if they had asked Aranarth that question, he would have answered with his sweetest smile that he wants to marry his nurse. I'm not sure that would have been any more convincing for anybody. The entire situation is just absurd.”

“I know. I did not mean to upset you further. You will see, everything will turn out right in the end and we will be able to leave this all behind us.”

Fíriel sighed and shifted closer to Arvedui. She wished she had his faith and confidence. She just felt exhausted.

 

Fíriel had never given her father the promise to become queen, but it felt that way. It felt like she had failed him, hadn't fought hard enough, hadn't honoured his wishes. Eärnil would be crowned as king before the month was over and she would be chased from the citadel like the beggar as which they had treated her.

She looked out at the White Tree, its leaves seeming to shine in the moonlight. Fíriel thought about how she would never see it again and how Aranarth would likely not even be able to remember it when he grew up.

There was a soft knock on the door behind her. “Fíriel?”

“Come in,” she replied, recognising her husband's voice.

“How are you feeling?”

Fíriel shrugged. “I'm fine.”

Arvedui rested his head on her shoulder and she had to think of the day a bare five years ago when he had asked her for her hand in front of that very same window. “I had a... well, rather strange encounter.”

“Hm?” Fíriel asked, not sure she wanted the distraction Arvedui would surely try to offer her.

“A man pulled me into a dark alley in the carpenters' quarter. He claimed he could help us.”

“In what way?” Fíriel's curiosity was piqued.

“He claimed there is a group of men who would arrest Eärnil and give us the throne. Eärnil would be trialled for conspiracy, as would Pelendur and parts of the council.”

Fíriel's mind sprang into action. “We need to act quickly. If this happens before Eärnil is crowned, then it is not treason.”

Arvedui stared at her.

“If it is done properly, it can work. The people of Gondor trust the courts and if there is doubt about Eärnil's motives and morality, people will support us.”

“Fíriel.”

Fíriel looked at Arvedui and registered his dismay.

“Fíriel, you cannot mean this.”

“Why not? It will work. This is how we will become king and queen of Gondor, just like my father wanted us to.”

“Your father cannot have wanted this, not at the price it will cost. Yes, some may be persuaded, but not everyone. Gondor has had kin-strife before, and the tales of that are enough to make my blood run cold. We need all the strength we can summon to keep our enemies at bay, we do not have any strength to make new enemies. I will not be responsible for that, not even if your father had wanted that.”

“But it is our best hope, our only hope! If we don't take this chance, we will go back to Arthedain and Gondor will be lost for us, out of our reach.”

“It might work, Fíriel, but I am not willing to take the responsibility for what will follow. I will take the road back north, the choice that seems less hopeful.”

“Do not bring that ridiculous prophecy into this! This is not about what a so-called seer said over the crib of an infant years ago, this is about Gondor, about a re-united kingdom, about us. This is about you not caring enough! If this is how you see things, the Council was right to turn down your claim!”

Arvedui's lips were a thin line. “It is not a matter of not caring. It is a matter of common sense.”

He turned to leave.

“Where are you going?!” Fíriel demanded. “We haven't finished discussing this!”

“I have not yet congratulated Eärnil for being chosen as king. He will be a good and just ruler over Gondor.”

Fíriel slammed her hand against the wall as the door shut quietly behind Arvedui. She immediately regretted it, the walls were built to endure. She blinked back tears as she regretted every decision she had ever made in that room.

Unable to stand being in the room any longer, she waited just long enough to make sure her husband was gone before storming out of the room and the citadel. She wondered if she should take a walk through the carpenters' quarter, but instead, her feet led her to the Rath Dínen.

For long hours, she sat by the tombs of her father and brothers.

 

Arvedui was still awake when Fíriel returned to their room in the small hours of the morning.

He looked at her with his deep brown eyes. “Fíriel.”

“I am sorry, Arvedui. I was not thinking clearly. I would not risk war over this.”

Arvedui strode over to her and wrapped her in a warm embrace, making her realise just how chilly it had been outside. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent of soap, wool and a hint of pine needles.

“Let’s go home, please.”


End file.
